|Logophile and peripatetic, with a tendency to be a bit of a grammar troll too. Passionate about the Lord's Good Works, not to mention His Good Book.♥|
Behind Glass Doors
© Maruschka Scott
spend the majority of your life
feeling only half alive
like a trophy of sorts
on display behind glass doors
you curl lock & lash
pinch your cheeks that they may appear flushed
much like a porcelain doll propped in an antique display case
made up to appear well polished
primped and proper
as women that's what we're taught to mirror
and oh the horror! if you're found out to be a plain wallflower
lacking in glamour
so we've become idle women
who desire the picturesque garden
but do not tolerate dirt under our fingernails
conditioned to perceive that we've been stripped of our worth — the moment our beauty pales
but know that this is utterly false
Writing to you from sunny South Africa, only it's a beautifully overcast day today!
Days like these — with the just fallen rain scent in the air, and the shaded out sun to cool things down... This is my happy weather!
Alas the temperate conditions are not my get-up-motivator.
Firstly: this is the day the Lord has made.
Secondly: His mercies are new today.
Third: Joy cometh in the morning.
I remind myself of these promises, and then whatever caused me to have a less-than-optimal day the day before — becomes obsolete.
Because today itself has the potential to become a memory worthy of being a nostalgic keepsake.
What can I do to help those suffering from mental health issues?
Educate myself for one.
There are a lot of mental health disorders in today's world;
And I can't truly help anyone suffering — if I haven't equipped myself with understanding their suffering...
People largely suffer from a form of mental disorder because they are left feeling understood — mainly because they're exposed to people in their life who are self-engrossed and don't care to LISTEN and hear out someone else's heart.
People need to realize that this self-seeking nature is leads insecurity and fear: "if they don't care enough to listen, if what's on my heart is not important, then I probably don't matter".
This is the ...
Music is one of the art form which has the most impact on the individual.
Not only has it been proven to be a whole brain activity (i.e. it stimulates both hemispheres), and a sought-after tool in therapy to promote change...
But it can also serve as a memory bank, a photo album of sorts.
Some times the silence can be a dear solitude — all good things in moderation.
Although I am very selective of what musical influences I expose my psyche to — most secular music out there just fill our subconscious with poor value matter... sadly.
Thus be sure to listen responsibly!
You are what you listen to. ♥
First off, I pray that you'll read this.
(I'll do my best to keep to the minimum words possible).
However I need to be obedient and share my testimony here.
In (early) 2015 I was as lost as one could be, caught up in spiritual warfare against psychic/emotional vampires and other cultists. I was on drugs, smoked ganja + nicotine, got drunk on a regular basis, not to mention my promiscuity... which don't look pretty in the spiritual realm.
Having my third eye open in the midst of all this activity led to my becoming neurotic, and alienated from people.
Of course I didn't perceive this insight (in full) until fairly recently...
I found myself beaten down, weary, and alone.
"You do not get, simply because you do not ask."
An untitled poem.
© Maruschka Scott
The lady dipped her brush in the oils;
As she went about painting the boy asking for spoils.
Noting his frail frame of weakness, and the scuff marks on each shoe;
Seeing the baker handing him a loaf of bread — she assumes that he must have noted as much too.
And as the boy walked away, she saw the truth which his eyes foretold;
In order to gain what you're given — you've no choice but to be utterly bold.
"As she opened the door she stood there silently for a few seconds. She then bursts into uncontrollable laughter as she realizes what she's looking at...."
Her young boy had found himself in a mess. Where he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, perched on a step ladder, he looked a ridiculous sight.
Especially now that he was glaring at his mother indignantly; because how could she dare laugh at him!
But how could she not!
Half his face was dripping shaving cream (he must have gotten it mixed with water and it had gotten diluted), the other was a shade irritation red (he must have scratched it using the razor still capped).
Not to mention the angles at which he had managed to knot up his ...